


221B or not to be

by Idontreallyknowanymore



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Adorable Molly, Clueless Sherlock, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sherlolly - Freeform, i dont even know the plot yet, i love this show way too much, i think its okay, this my first fic, very fluffy and cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-25 10:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14975186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idontreallyknowanymore/pseuds/Idontreallyknowanymore
Summary: I'm trying to write more and i love sherlolly, so this happened?? You can thank my mum for the fic title, I've got to be at a lesson in 3 minutes so byyyyeeeee





	1. Sherlock is clueless

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to write more and i love sherlolly, so this happened?? You can thank my mum for the fic title, I've got to be at a lesson in 3 minutes so byyyyeeeee

I walked down the moonlit street and noticed how was eerily silent it was. I always heard something, people jangling keys irritatingly as they walked along the street with the beeping cars, the shuffling of feet on the cracked pavement, the people talking in the cafe downstairs, Mrs Hudson endlessly shifting furniture about and cleaning until she was exhausted. I heard everything, I hated it. Although it did stop enraged people I’d got arrested sneaking up and killing me, but still, it was annoying. There was never any silence, no rest from the droning of humanity until tonight apparently.

Something was off, I could tell as soon as I walked up the stairs. The flat door was had a little smudge of dirt, like it had been kicked open, there was a jumble of seemingly random keyrings on the shelf above the fireplace, and a couple of boxes on his desk. Peering in the kitchen, I saw Molly Hooper slumped in a chair, cheek smushed against the wooden table and hair released from her usual ponytail, flowing around her head, so that she sort of looked like a mermaid underwater. Her shoulders moved slowly up and down as she breathed in deeply. She was fast asleep.

She looked pretty adorable. Her skin was clear bright, flushed with a coral blush, she had something shimmery on her cheekbones and it looked almost like she was shining. Her eyelashes were thick and black, and a small winged line sprouted from the ends of each eyelid. Sitting down across from her, I wondered at why she could possibly be here so late, it was 4 am after all. I gently rubbed her arm to wake her, but she didn’t stir. 

I spotted the boxes on desk again. They were light brown, with a string bow wrapped carefully around each one and a small label saying ‘Madeline’s Bakery’. Intrigued, I got up to see what was inside. Carefully undoing the bow, and opening the flaps, I looked inside to see my favourite desert, five small pecan tarts and some crumbs. They were arranged in rows of twos, except the third and final line which only had one. I chuckled quietly to myself, she’d obviously brought them over, eaten one whilst waiting for me and then fallen asleep. 

Briefly sniffing the tart, I brought one up to my mouth and took a tiny nibble. It was horrible, the usually sweet syrupy taste that made me love them had been replaced with bitterness. Poison. It had been poisoned. I spat it out and turned in horror. Molly wasn’t just alseep, she had been poisoned.


	2. The beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! thank you for your comments, they are really motivating. :)  
> I think I'm going to plan on posting every 3-4 days, so I can make the chapters as good as possible, rather than rushing them out every other day. This chapter is considerably longer than the first, mostly plot related and in Molly's POV, but I did add one paragraph of fluff!   
> I'm looking forward to writing the scene straight after chapter one, so stay tuned. ;)   
> P.S I'm too tired to proof read it so if it doesn't make sense it's my brains fault, not mine.

I was never the violent type, not until now. Never the one to punch or kick. I cared too deeply about everything, even small bugs would make me cry if they were squished. Yet, even as the rage burned through my body like acid, I couldn’t feel any sadness. Numb, Except the unfaltering liquid fire. I wanted him dead, to never see his name in the papers, or stupid replicas of his stupid hat on tourist’s heads. I couldn’t- wouldn’t bear it any longer. He was not a hero, and people needed to stop treating him like one. He wasn’t extraordinary or remarkable in anyway, if he was; he would have been able to save her. I didn’t know anything with any certainty any more. Not my future, nor how the world could keep spinning without her in it. Only that Sherlock Holmes was going to die. 

She was one of the hostages, guarded not by a person, but a vest strapped tightly around her frail body, bursting with explosives. She was so soft and small and wrinkly, so different to the fearless mother that raised me. How anyone could be so cruel, So despicable as to do that to someone already just a few years away from death? After seemingly endless months I had found the scum that had orchestrated her murder, and planned the punishment that Moriarty deserved to face. But Sherlock could have stopped it, Could have stopped me feeling so empty, if only he’d hung up sooner. But he didn’t. And for that, he must fall. 

\----------------------------------------  
Molly’s POV 

The aroma of warm, buttery pastries wafted through the dreary street, and it had been a stressful day, so I caved. I’d had a lot of bodies to perform autopsies on, including a teenage boy. I couldn’t quite get the image of his black, dull eyes looking right through me. I followed the scent up the cobblestone hill, into a small bakery. The walls were a deep red, like wilting rose petals. The glass display cases were filled with an array of delicious treats, making my stomach perform a very embarrassing whale call. Luckily no one was close enough to hear it. I heard lazy chatter from the kitchens behind, and rung the small silver bell on top. A tired, grumpy looking man walked slowly to the till. “What can I get you?” He droned, rubbing his eyes and blinking. I scanned the cases, there was donuts, sprinkled with sugar and oozing with strawberry jam, fruit tarts, with sliced apple dripping with syrup and a cherry balanced on top. I considered the golden brown croissants, my childhood favourite, before finally settling on a some pecan pies, Sherlock’s favourite.

“Please could I have some Pecan tarts?” I finally replied.   
“How many would you like?” he asked, like he really didn’t care.   
“Ummm...” I hesitated. I thought about the dull evening I would have by myself at home, watching tv, eating the same plain food, then going to bed at precisely 10 o’clock. Nope.   
“A box of six please.” I gave him a sheepish smile, before continuing, “I’m sharing them with my friend Sherlock.” like I had to explain myself. He perked up at that.   
“That’s not the guy in the papers is it? It’s not a very common name.” his eyes seemed searching.  
“Uhh, yes that’s him! Always solving his cases.” I chuckled awkwardly.  
“Well in that case, I’ll add something special! He’s always helping other people, I expect he deserves something nice.” he announced, surprisingly awake now.   
“Oh, um thank you, that’s very kind” He picked up the box filled with the tarts and walked into the kitchen. I heard the soft thudding of drawers being opened and closed. After several minutes he emerged, and the tarts had a murky beige sauce drizzled in wide zig zags across them.   
“It’s my special sweet toffee sauce, it’s been in the family for centuries!”   
“Aww, how lovely. Thank you.” I went to pull my wallet out of my bag, but he stopped me.  
“No, no, I insist; my treat.” He sounded firm, nothing I said would change his mind.  
“If you’re sure,” I gazed up and he nodded his head. “Thank you, that’s very generous.”   
I grabbed the box, making sure it was level, and walked to the door, with one last smile I was on the street once more.

It was a nice enough day, so I decided to walk to Baker Street. Little pieces of pollen bobbed about, twisting through the air like they were small boats travelling on a million different rivers in the afternoon sky. They reminded me of Sherlock. Even though he might appear brave, he’s a coward when it comes to feeling ill. One day when his hay fever was particularly bad, he just led on the sofa, refusing to move with a sore throat and a cold, even when I told him about some mysterious marks I found on a victim’s body. It wasn’t until I spent the whole day preparing and cooking home made chicken soup, that he suddenly felt better. He then refused to eat it because, ‘chicken soup is sick people food and I’m not sick any more.’ I chuckled, remembering the look on John’s face. He did eat it though, following the first bite he gave me a warm smile that turned my insides to jelly. When it was getting late, I got up to leave and gather my things and after saying my goodbyes, I walked onto the small landing. Just as I started my descent down the narrow stairs, Sherlock came out, shutting the door behind him. He just stared observantly at me for a moment before wrapping me in a comforting hug. His curly hair tickled my cheek, as my nose was filled with the smell of coconut and lemongrass. He murmured “Thank you, Molly.” with such a gentle voice that it made my heart try and leap out onto the floor. Whatever would my autopsy say? Death by too much affection? I pulled back to look at him properly, keeping my arms wrapped around his chest. “That’s okay.” I mirrored his quiet voice, mine coming out barely a whisper. He moved a step backwards, giving me a shy smile before opening the door and slipping back inside. 

I blushed just thinking about it. I unlocked the door to 221B (Sherlock gave me a key, so that when he’s deep in thought or ‘in his mind palace’ he doesn’t have to be disturbed) and stepped inside. No one was home. I thought about just putting them on the side and leaving, but I again thought about the empty house waiting for me If I was to leave now, and decided to stay for a while, until either John or Sherlock got back. I popped the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea, before sitting down at the kitchen table. I placed the box in front of me and slowly unwrapped the ribbon around box and opened the lid. I might as well just have one now, I thought. Carefully picking one up, I took a huge bite and chewed. The tart tasted delicious, the pecans were coated in an amber sugary syrup, however the sauce had quite a peculiar taste. I took one more bite, and then shoved the rest of it in. My cheeks were filled food, I probably didn’t look too dissimilar to my friend’s hamster in primary school. Yawning, I stretched my arms up towards the ceiling. Wow, I was more tired than I thought. I tried to stand up to finish making my cup of tea, but suddenly my head was woozy, and spinning like I was on fair ground ride. I sat down hard, bumping my elbow roughly on the edge of the dining table. I winced. Ouch. I leaned my head on the table, using my arms as a pillow. Doing one final yawn, I closed my eyes, telling myself I was just resting them, before drifting off into a deep, deep, deep sleep.


End file.
